


Contempt

by goldtoashes, heirsofbrokenlegacies (jarofhearts)



Series: Discord [7]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Badass Maedhros, Blood, Fëanorians being proud and stubborn, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mairon's obsession with Maedhros, Mairon's weakness for elves, Manipulation, Melkor's growing madness and paranoia, Mind Games, Non-Consensual Touching, Poor Maedhros, Pre-First Age, Psychological Torture, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sauron Being an Asshole, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21838861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldtoashes/pseuds/goldtoashes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarofhearts/pseuds/heirsofbrokenlegacies
Summary: After his imprisonment in Valinor, Melkor has changed. Mairon uses their prisoner to find out why - and to indulge a little in the mystery that is the fiery Noldor prince who simply refuses to break.
Relationships: Maedhros | Maitimo/Sauron | Mairon
Series: Discord [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537228
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	Contempt

The corridors down here were dark, only dimly lit by some torches on the crude stone walls. You did not mind the dim light, though you knew your way well enough that you probably would have found it in utter darkness. This time, however, you could not shake a certain feeling of unease, as you were coming down here for very personal reasons.

You finally needed answers. And a different kind of answers than the ones that were usually extracted down here. 

Arriving in the lower dungeons, the orcish guard handed you a torch. Bowing deeply, he hurried to open the door to the cell for you that held the one that would hopefully be able to provide those answers. 

You had sent word ahead that you would be coming down here, so they had already pulled him up into a standing position, his arms secured above his head with a chain, ankles shackled to the wall. When he had first been brought down here, you had seen him break a careless orc’s jaw and strangle another with his chain, and decided that you would not take any risks with this one.

You put your torch into the ring next to the door and indicated to the guard to close the door behind you. Only when you were alone, you turned towards your prisoner.

“Maitimo.”

He watched you out of his grey eyes that had lost none of their sharpness ever since he had been captured just over two years ago, amplified by the pure hatred that was ever obvious in them. You did not get a reply - never did when you came down here, not at first.

“I have a few questions for you that you might help me with.”

Slowly, you came closer, eyes travelling over his body. Though leaner and less muscular than at his capture, he was still a beautiful sight to look at, the marks of his latest treatment still visible, but already fading. His famous red hair was unkempt and ruffled, emphasizing the aura of a dangerous predator that surrounded him. A chained one, but a predator nonetheless.

“You and I both know that you will talk to me eventually, Maitimo,” you said as he still did not reply, giving him your most amiable smile, “so why don’t we cut the part short where you merely choose to glare at me?”

“One might think that you cannot expect an answer without asking an actual question,” the Noldo did choose to speak up then, a taunting note in his voice that had become rougher over time, not quite as melodious anymore as it used to be.

You felt the corners of your mouth twitch. His defiance had ever intrigued you more than it had angered you, something about it stirring the dark, ever-present whispers of the Discord within your blood. Maybe there was something more to be had here than merely the answers you needed.

“Very well then. I would like to speak with you about something you might actually like to remember: your youth in Tirion.” Reaching out for him, you gently traced the discolored, ugly mark of a whip on his chest, right over the pectoral muscles, wondering whether you had been present when he had caught that one. He immediately tensed underneath your touch as though it was instinct by now, body taut as the string of a bow. “From what I have heard, my Master often visited the Noldor at the time, talking to your kin. Do you remember him?”

The expression on his face closed off even more, became more of a blank mask than the one that had betrayed his contempt before.

“Just say what it is you want and spare us both the time.”

“And here I thought lack of time was the least of your problems these days,” you said, giving him a pitying look. Yet you quickly turned serious again. “In fact I  _ do  _ want to know how you remember the time Lord Melkor spent among you and your kin in Valinor. Did he ever talk to you, or any member of your family? What was he like?”

He just looked at you for a long moment out of those bright, silver eyes. They were remarkable, you’ve always thought - there was a light in them like a blazing fire burning deep within, something you had not seen yet in any elf. But the creatures you’ve had in here before, the elves of the darkness of Middle-Earth, did not seem to have much in common with the elf in front of you in the first place.

“Of course he did,” he finally replied. “Ever did he speak words of  _ friendship _ .”

“And you believed him?” 

He breathed out, and you thought you could  _ almost _ call it a huff.

“His words were poison. Though one that works slowly and only over time.”

It surely  _ did _ sound like him, you thought with a certain sense of bitterness.

“So what was it that he promised you?”

Again he studied you for a few moments that felt decidedly too long, though it was impossible to read anything in his expression - or even his voice when he finally did reply.

“What does it matter to you?”

Your hand had almost trailed off his chest, but now your fingers went back to the red welt that the whip had left, your nails pricking the damaged skin. Not enough to really hurt him, but a sharp reminder of who was in charge here.

“Maitimo, dear, I am asking the questions. Not you.”

He neither flinched, nor could you feel him tense again, and his eyes were steady on yours. And, of course, he ignored your words.

“What is this, really? Are you afraid he has done something you don’t know about? Or something you can’t explain to yourself?”

His words were much closer to the truth than you cared for, and that along with the defiant spark in those damn silver-grey eyes made something dark and cruel inside of you raise its ugly head in anticipation.

“You know,” you said conversationally as your fingers pressed hard against the mark that the whip had left, piercing the damaged skin effortlessly and drawing fresh blood, “sometimes I believe you almost  _ want _ me to hurt you.” Your other hand closed hard around the nape of his neck to prevent him from turning his head and denying you the flash of pain in his eyes. 

It was there, but his gaze did not falter, nor did he try to turn away.

“I'm afraid you got that wrong,” he said, head tipping up ever so subtly. “I simply do not  _ care _ .”

“Big words,” you teased him, fingertips trailing down his chest to his stomach in a light caress. “I feel like testing them, although I didn’t even come down here to play games with you.” Sobering up, you withdrew for the moment, not without a slight feeling of regret. “If you really do not care, you can just as well tell me. What did my Master promise you and what happened that he came to hate your father and his entire house the way he does?”

Something flashed over his face then, a brief and subtle but unmistakable rage, though in his voice there was, if anything, bitterness.

“I would say that you are better equipped to guess what went on in his mind. Envy, jealousy, greed… wounded pride, when my father shut the door in his face.” A sneer flickered over his lips. “So he slew my grandfather and took the Silmarils. That is what happened.”

You blinked in disbelief, forgetting even to mask your feelings. The memory of how Melkor had raged senselessly at you as well as his other captains this morning because the Noldor had taken out one small, insignificant patrol somewhere was still vivid in your mind. The mere thought of how he had slapped your face in front of everyone else for nothing but a careless remark was still enough to let bile rise to your mouth as well as fill you with a slight feeling of horror. Horror that he did not even seem to realize or care about the power struggle he might create within his own ranks if he did such things to you in public. The thought that he should have allowed a mere elf to defy him, though…

“Fëanáro shut the door in his face. And he… let him?”

The question brought a smile to the Noldo’s face, one that was small but full of razor-sharp edges.

“You have never met my father,” was all that he said.

You did not react to it, too busy contemplating what he had told you. Slowly, the puzzle that was Melkor’s time in Aman filled out, started making sense to you. His blinding wrath at the Noldor and the descendants of Fëanáro most of all, his growing paranoia, his insistence on keeping and defending the Silmarils at all cost. Why Fëanáro and his sons were so insistent on getting them back and taking their vengeance that they had travelled half the world into the unknown for.

“So this is why everyone is so obsessed with these cursed gems.” 

You were not quite sure you even meant to say this out loud, and you instantly regretted it when you heard his soft, though bitter laugh.

“He’s getting paranoid, is he not? Afraid that someone will take them away from him again.” His eyebrows rose a little, though his eyes remained hard. “And not just by us. By his generals too.”

“Is that what the Silmarils do?” you asked, tilting your head and crossing your arms over your chest. Wondering whether he was just trying to taunt you or whether there was in fact some valuable information to be gained here. “Well, I suppose, being Fëanáro’s son, you would know, wouldn’t you?”

“Indeed I would,” he replied without missing a beat, eyes unwavering on yours, and it should have been impossible to hold the amount of aplomb he did, naked and chained to the wall as he was. Again, you stalked closer to him, irresistibly drawn by the fire you sensed in his eyes.

“So the Silmarils made your father mad, is that what you are saying? But if that is so, what is your excuse, Maitimo, and that of your brothers? You never had them, yet you did not hesitate to cross half the world with your precious father to recover them. Your father died shortly after setting foot on these shores and you rushed into one of the most obvious traps one could set.” A cruel smile found your lips. “It seems to be the taint derives rather from Fëanáro than from the gems, and he just poisoned his work as well as his own blood with it.”

Finally, it seemed like you had riled him at least partly, his hands gripping the chains above his head tightly enough that his knuckles were pale under the dirt on his skin.

“If anything drove my father mad, it was grief.  _ Your Master _ has always been mad, the light of the Silmarils will only bring it to the fore. And it will grow worse and worse in time, because they’re stronger than the darkness he wears.”

You scoffed at him in apparent disbelief, trying to hide your concern that he might actually be  _ right  _ about this. “Wishful thinking, my little elfling, nothing more. You have no idea about the extent of his powers.”

“You will see,” he merely replied as his hands released the chains once more. His head tilted just a little as he considered you. “Does he know the kind of questions you ask?”

“I believe I made myself  _ quite clear _ that this is none of your concern, have I not?”

His reaction was a soft, huffed laugh. “I can just imagine the consequences. What does he do when he finds himself displeased?”

Again, his words brought up the memory of this morning, the flash of fury in his dark eyes, your head ringing with pain, the sound of someone snickering behind you, the tension in your jaw as you muttered an apology between clenched teeth…  _ and for all of you, don’t you dare displease me again…  _

The whispers of the Discord turned into an angry hiss, and for a moment you fought the violent impulse to just strike Maitimo across his beautiful face as Melkor had done with you, torture him mercilessly until he would beg you to stop. 

Only that he would not beg. You knew from countless experiences that even after hours of pain, he would still look at you with that unrelenting glare in his eyes and give you nothing but his scorn and derision. And you were not willing to give him another chance to take pride from this, nor the satisfaction of knowing that he had actually managed to strike a nerve with his words. 

Yet, you would not let him get away with his insolence either.

“Oh Maitimo,” you said in an affectionate tone, reaching for his face. “I told you I did not come down here to play games with you. Yet it seems that today, you are the one who wants to play for once.” Gently, your fingertips caressed the elegant curve of his cheekbone. “Well, I suppose you have been good enough for me to indulge you a little. You asked whether my Master knows about the questions I am asking. He does not, of course, but it is of no consequence. Because he is never going to hear about them. Only you and I were here after all.” In a mocking gesture, you pressed a finger to his lips. “And you won’t tell.”

There was a look of contempt in his eyes, and with a small tilt of his head, he shook off your touch.

“You're afraid of him,” he observed, unphased by your words.

“And so should you be.” You did not even bother denying it, your hand sliding into his red hair instead, clenching into a fist so that it hurt just enough. He had no choice but to tip his head the way you forced it, and you knew he hated that, at least, just by the look in his eyes.

“He has been uncontested in Arda so far. Not anymore. And he knows it too. Or he would not be so nervous.”

Of course he was right, and worse, he knew that he was. Yet you laughed at him, your hand in his hair tightening ever so slightly. “Sure, my Master is terrified of the bunch of elves whose current High King has resided in his dungeon for two years now, shackled to the wall like a disobedient dog. Tell that to yourself, Maitimo, if it makes you feel any better.” Stepping even closer, it was only inches that separated you now. Since he was a little taller than your current shape, you could easily rest your chin upon his shoulder to whisper into his ear, “Can you even guess how many of your kin have been standing before me just as you do now? How eventually, they all broke, one way or the other, kneeling and pleading and oh-so-eager to do my very bidding?” 

“That's not something to be proud of.” His voice was quiet like your own, but he was standing very still. You could feel the heartbeat pulsing under his skin, powerful and even, only a little accelerated. “It's sad, nothing more.”

“It is sad,” you agreed. “It is also utterly  _ boring. _ ” Your hold of his hair loosened and instead, you started toying with some single strands. “But you are different from them, Maitimo, handsome, are you not? You simply refuse to break. You’ll defy us to your last breath, am I right?”

You could see his jaw clenching, and he turned his gaze away with something that could almost be a subtle eye-roll. “Did you not get your answers already?”

“I did, but as you so obviously pointed out, it seems I need to make sure you keep the questions to yourself,” you explained as one would to an impatient child, twisting a strand of his hair around your finger. “You see… my Master has an interest in keeping you alive, at least for now. From my experience with your kin, that limits the things one can do them. There are certain violations of the body that elves just won’t tolerate or else their  _ fëa _ will simply leave and escape to the Halls of Mandos. Or so we thought. But from what I have seen of you so far, your blazing rage, your hatred, your defiance…” A cruel smile twisted your lips and, putting your hand on his cheek, you turned his head back because you wanted to see the expression in his eyes as he understood what you were hinting at. “I start believing that we could do to you whatever we wanted and you’d take it. Just because you hate us too much to give up. Am I wrong?”

There was something that flickered over his face, subtle and just for a brief moment, that made you think he  _ did  _ understand what you were saying. He slowly tried to pull his head away but could only go so far due to the cold stone behind him. His bright grey eyes never left yours.

“What are you even saying?”

He had clearly not been away from Valinor long enough to fully grasp what other creatures did to each other, so it seemed that you needed to be more blunt.

“I am saying, Maitimo, that if I tell my Master that I believe you can take it, he'll undoubtedly want to test this. He'll send down a few orcs to rape you until you are a bloody mess. I doubt you'd be excited about that, would you?” With a wolfish grin, you let your free hand slide between his legs. “No, you clearly wouldn't.”

And finally, he did flinch away, the expression on his face telling you very clearly that you had finally gotten under his skin. You were quite aware that, as close as you were, he could do some true damage to your  _ fana _ even with his arms shackled above his head. And his body twitched as though that was exactly what his instincts told him to do.

But he had the mastery over them even now, it seemed, because all he did for a long moment was to simply stare at you, a mix of disgust, shock and disbelief written all over his face.

“What’s this?” you could not help but tease him, your hand between his legs gently squeezing. “Are you lost for words after all, dear?”

There was a fresh wave of hatred burning in his eyes when he looked back at you, as if it had taken a new quality. As if the resentment was something  _ more _ now… something personal, and the dark cravings inside you enjoyed it greatly, licked it up as if it was fine honey.

“Fascinating. I should remember this does the trick to tame you,” you laughed, before letting your voice become gentle again. “Now don’t worry, I will not say anything of this unless you force me to. You are way too beautiful to be destroyed in such a disgraceful, uninspiring way. I would prefer you to keep your fire.” You paused for a moment, as if entertaining a new thought, you fingertips travelling in slow, lazy caresses. “Yet… thinking about it, having you moan with pleasure rather than in pain might actually be interesting for a change. Don’t you agree?”

What you thought you saw flashing over his face then, just for the briefest of moments, had to be pain. Not the kind you usually saw down here. It looked like something deeper, maybe, or more raw, you were not sure.

He glared at you but still said nothing, but from every pore he radiated rejection. Your hand that still cradled his face closed around his jaw just a little tighter.

“Now where’s your sharp tongue, Maitimo? Answer me.”

“What do you want me to  _ say _ ?” he hissed back, eyes flashing. “That I want your hands on me?  _ I don't. _ ”

“You don’t?” you asked, mock surprise and disappointment in your voice. “But why not? I promise I am not going to hurt you.”

“You don’t even know how to do anything else.” A sneer flickered over his lips, though it seemed to be fuelled by that anger and pain you had caught a glimpse of. “How could you?”

“Oh, but I do know a thing or two, Maitimo,” you said gently. “I know that for all the creatures who inhabit Arda, be they elves, orcs, or even animals, the mind can so easily change based on the current desires and needs of their bodies. And there is something else I know.” You paused for a moment, concentrating to just sense him, his helpless rage, his hatred, the deep and utter contempt he had for you. His spirit was unbroken, burning bright like a flame, yet now, in his anger, you could sense the dark traces of the Discord within his own mind, now calling to you louder than ever. Again, you pulled him closer, muttered into his ear, “Desire does not have to derive from love or even liking. It can just as well come from hatred, from anger… and sometimes, it is even more potent that way.” 

And with these words, you subtly let the dark patterns of the Discord seep into his skin, feeding it to him slowly and just a little, knowing quite well that his raging mind would respond to it, would greedily soak it in, that there was some dark part of him that was starving, aching for this. 

“Tell me what you want, Maitimo…”

You could feel that he did react to it, in the quiet breath he took that, so close, almost sounded like a small gasp, in the way his whole body started tensing again, the chains clinking overhead as he undoubtedly grasped them with his hands once more.

“Stay  _ away from me _ ,” he ground out, yet it sounded more strained than it had before. You grinned as you felt him twitching slightly under your teasing hand, how he started to harden just a little as you were gently stroking him and letting more of the Discord seep in to further the progress. 

“I don’t think that’s what you really want, for me just to  _ leave _ , do you…? No, I bet what you’d  _ really  _ want is to be rid of these chains, if only for a sweet, single moment. Am I not right?”

His breathing was faster now, and you could just feel how he was fighting an increasingly desperate war within himself, not understanding what was happening to him. A wordless raw sound of rage worked its way out of his chest and again he tried to jerk away from you, his head and body equally, but at least the latter was rendered immobile by the chains around wrists and ankles. Maybe because of that it was his head that moved instead, lightning fast, and you could feel the deep sting of teeth tearing into the unprotected flesh of your neck. 

Reflexively, you pulled away, your hand closing around his throat to stop him from coming after you, but from the blood on his lips and the burning sensation at your own neck, you could sense that he already got you good. Yet the sight of him and the pain only spurred the craving within your own mind on, and thus a taunting smile found your lips.

“And how did that taste, Maitimo, dear…?”

“You’re a vile creature.” His voice was quiet and just a little shaky, though that did not take away from the utter yet helpless contempt he felt for you.

“Says the one with the bloodstained mouth…” you muttered, tracing his lips with your finger, yet taking care that he did not snap at you again. “I bet if you could, you would have gone right for my throat, wouldn’t you? Sink your teeth in deep, tear the flesh, feel me cringe… you would have liked that, wouldn’t you?”

You believed you could almost see his eyes darken as more Discord seeped in, your grip around his length becoming firmer, more demanding. He was not entirely hard, the disgust and hatred probably too great. But it was more than enough to make your point.

“Anything that would get me rid of you,” he said, a look in his eyes that felt wild and primal - probably enhanced by the last traces of blood on his lips and teeth. But it was more than that, you knew. He would have killed you with his bare hands right there if he could have, the tendrils of the strings of the Discord you had tugged on inside him would see to it. 

“And just imagine what you _ could _ do to me if you just had your hands free,” you taunted him, your free hand sliding up along his arm, caressing the tense muscles there. “I believe you could probably strike me to the ground, pin me down and hold me there…” Your voice was down to a soft murmur again. “Can you imagine your hands around my throat, Maitimo, how you would feel my pulse speeding up under your thumbs? The look in my eyes, knowing that you would only need to press down long enough to leave me cold and dead on the floor? And you would wonder if you could actually do it, if you could make me beg you for my life right before you killed me…”

You could feel a tremor in his body, hear his flat, short breaths, know how forcefully he was keeping himself still. He could not even  _ help  _ imagining it, you were sure, the image playing out in his mind just as you laid it out to him, and finally a small shudder went through him.

Oh, how he  _ would have  _ enjoyed it. You could finally feel that under your hand too, and it sent a rush of dark, glorious triumph through you. A wild, powerful feeling that you kept feeding him, slowly, fanning the savage burning in him that you knew quite too well.

“And maybe I’d do it. Beg you to spare me, promising you that I would submit to whatever you wanted me to.” You gave your voice a rough note as your hand started to move faster, harder, even though your next words held no excitement for you. Being one of the Ainur, you had never felt the need to engage in the carnal pleasures the Children were so fond of, though you had acquired a fairly good knowledge how their desires could be used against them.

“And from what I feel here I have a fairly good idea what  _ that _ would be, Maitimo, right? Does the thought excite you? Of tearing my clothes, pushing my legs apart and thrusting right into me, without me being able to stop you? How powerful it would make you feel to drive hard into me again and again, having me completely at your mercy, whimpering and writhing underneath you…?”

What did excite you was his reaction, though, how he shuddered again, helplessly, and squeezed his eyes shut - to try and shut the world out, maybe, to center himself and fight back, to not let you have this. And you just knew that he did not understand how this could be happening at all, how he responded like this to that fantasy you created, unaware that you were fuelling those darkest parts of him.

“No… stop…”

His voice was no more than a rough whisper now, his face turned away, as if he never even wanted to look at you again. 

“Oh stop lying to yourself, the mere thought thrills you so much… Can you imagine the look on my face? All the hatred and helplessness and rage in my eyes, and yet underneath it all, you would see how much it would excite me to be taken that roughly, to be used for your pleasure only…” With a predatory smile on your face you pulled his hair once more, turning him to face you and look at you while your hand was moving up and down in an unrelenting, firm rhythm. “I might struggle, try to fight it and hold back just as you do now, but eventually I might just surrender, plead with you not to stop, to take me harder until I am raw and wrecked and begging for release. And you would have it in your hand whether to show me mercy or whether you would just go on, drag it out, make me take it until I am nothing but a sobbing mess. And when you would finally come, buried deep inside me, you’d know you have overpowered and defeated me once and for all, that I would never even dare to look at your face ever again…”

Despite turning his head back towards you, you could not make him open his eyes to look at you. But it was still enough that he shuddered again and came into your hand, weak and silent, and his expression betraying plainly that he hated absolutely everything about it. But he did. And that was what matters.

You pointedly let the silence linger for another moment, enjoying the full rush of your triumph and the Discord roaring inside you. Finally, you withdrew your hand from between his legs, touching his cheek in a fleeting, mocking caress.

“Too bad you’re still in your chains.”

He swallowed and finally opened his eyes again. There was something much more quiet now about the way he despised you, but something that went deeper than it did before. Something bone- and soul-deep that you knew was going to last forever.

“I don’t know what you did,” he said, not broken but more wounded than anything that had been done to him so far had been able to. “But it was you.”  _ It has to be _ , was what he did not say. “Because I know that’s not me.”

You just laughed at him, raised your sticky hand to your lips and sucked your fingertips clean in a quick, mocking gesture.

“Why don’t you just think about that for a little more, Maitimo,” you suggested in a mild tone, knowing full well that the images you had laid out for him would continue to stay in his mind. That the question of whether and how there was something inside of him that had  _ wanted _ this would torment him long after you have left.

And so you left him behind in the confines of his cell and his own mind, more at ease than when you had come down here, the dark afterglow of satisfaction humming inside you. You could feel his gaze on your back until you closed the door of the cell behind you, yet for the moment, you were no longer interested.

After all, he had given you everything that you had wanted from him.


End file.
